Addicted
by Louise and Illyna
Summary: The Turks- their love, their hate, their pain...and their addictions. All good things must come to an end. *Epilogue up!*
1. Prologue

Addicted

One more addiction in my world  
one more connection to let go  
flowing down the river  
out of sight forever (from my world)

Addiction. Relying on something to the utmost until it is part of yourself, part of your soul. Addicts and their fixes are inseparable, and quite often lying to themselves, cheating others, letting nothing get in the way of what they want. What they so desperately need.

Addictive personalities are much more common than one would think, as addicts often hide what they so desperately desire from the real world. They present a face of normality to the people around them. To show their weakness would be suicide, people would try and cure them. If cured, what would these addicts be? Nothing but shadows, until they succumbed to their inner demons once again.

Don't believe this: then read on. Beyond lies a tale of corruption of the innocent, bribery, lies, illegal substance use, and more.

Take centre stage – The Turks.


	2. My Sweet Prince

Addicted

My Sweet Prince

He opened his eyes slowly, and blearily his surroundings came into view. His living room so nicely provided by The Company. Groggily, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Slowly, slo-owly, everything came into focus. The sofa, the TV, his phone. And the coffee table. Nothing special about that 'til he looked closer. Lying there was his salvation: a hypodermic syringe, tinfoil, a lighter, cotton wool, a spoon and a bag of very expensive heroin only a Turk could afford. Oh, there were other things too. A few cartons of cigarettes, a bottle of vodka, a cell phone and his keys. 

Living like this was nice, he reflected. When he was younger all he could afford was the stuff that was cut with so much other shit it got you more paralytic than high, and you hovered rather than flew. As he was thinking about this, a familiar gnawing pain started inside of him. He knew what it meant. He had the means to stop it right there.

He got up, holding his head and made his way through beer cans and takeaway cartons to the table. Anticipating a fix was painful, he thought, but the sooner you got it the better. He rolled up his shirtsleeves; the track marks like vines up his arm. His hand shaking slightly, he emptied a little amount of the heroin onto the spoon and proceeded readying it, the pain in his stomach getting slowly worse. Finally, it was ready. This was the moment of glory, as he pushed the needle into a pre-prepared vein and moved the plunger down slowly, a heady mixture of junk and relief flooding him almost instantly. He smiled for the first time that morning, the pain evaporating. Euphoria soon took over, twisting the living room out of perspective as he was lost in the high. All the pain floated away, all the anger went, and he was floating too. Warmth and drowsiness enveloped him, as if he was wrapped in a blanket with a smoky haze in front of his eyes.

The shrill ring of his phone cut through the reverie, and scowling he answered it with a curt, "What?!"

"Reno?" came Elena's voice.

"No, it's the fuckin' Queen of Midgar. Of COURSE it's me!" he snapped, irritated at Elena's intrusion.

Elena whimpered slightly at the venom in his voice, but continued all the same. "Reno, there's been a change of plan…you'll have to come into work today…"

Reno growled inwardly. "Tell 'em to go fuck themselves. I'm not goin' NOWHERE."

"But…Reno…"

"No."

He was bloody annoyed now. Elena had made him come so far down from the sought-after high he was six under. And yet she was _still_ whining at him. Finally, he gave in, yelling, "Fine! I'll be there in ten fuckin' minutes." and slamming the phone down, now completely at a loss. He drank some water quickly and grabbed his keys. The drive to the office was short enough, but he was still pissed off. He'd planned to dedicate that morning to getting high and watching rubbishy daytime television, but that had been blown out of the water. He swung the car into the parking lot, making a mental note to unplug his phone on his next day off. It was just lucky for Elena that he felt comparatively normal now. But just in case, there was a small baggie of smack and a bit of tinfoil stuffed into his pocket, along with the obligatory cigarettes and lighter.

A few minutes later he reached the floor reserved for the Turks' lounge and offices. Elena came running out to meet him, looking a little worse for wear. "Reno," she greeted him, still seeming slightly apprehensive. "Thank God you're here!"

"Why?" he replied, puzzled and agitated at the same time. "What have you fucked up now?"

Elena chose to ignore this remark, and went on. "You see, there's been a mistake. You've got a hell of a lot of paperwork to do and your day off isn't 'til _next_ week!"

"Paperwork. Great." He said, irate.

"I'm sorry, Reno…but it needs to be done…" Elena said, shaking slightly.

Reno softened. "Not your fault, kid. Don't beat yourself up about it, eh?"

Elena smiled. "Yes, sir!"

"Now get out of my sight."

A packet of cigarettes and three cups of coffee later, Reno was about halfway through his work. _I wanted to do this job for the killin', not the paperwork!_ He thought irritably, but that familiar pain interrupted his train of thought yet again. _Not now,_ he told it crossly. _For fuck's sake._

But it was unavoidable. Sighing, he headed for the bathroom, checking the coast was clear first. He set the drug onto the tinfoil and melted it, a thick, sweet smell encompassing him. He breathed in the fumes and smoke curling up from the foil. As he began disposing of the foil, a voice spoke up behind him.

"Reno…" it was Tseng. Shit.

"Tseng! What the fuck are you doing here?!" he said, sounding slightly more panicked than he would've liked.

"Heroin, Reno?" Tseng said, with his customary even tone of voice. "It'll only kill you."

"Like you'd understand," Reno said, aggravated. "As if you'd even fuckin' understand."

Tseng lifted his head slightly, meeting Reno's glare. "Try me."

Reno pretended not to notice Tseng's massive pupils and the razorblade in his hand, smirking inwardly. "When you grew up like I did, you needed _somethin'_ to block out everything around you."

"How did you grow up, Reno?" Tseng said quietly, his voice inviting confidence and promising secrecy.

"My dad left when I was a kid and my Mom's boyfriend beat the shit outta me for kicks, so I ran away from home."

"I'm sorry," Tseng said simply.

Reno laughed bitterly. "Don't be. I'm not. Only thing I regret is, I left my sister behind, an' I don't even wanna think 'bout what that son of a bitch could be doin' to her…"

Tseng looked momentarily shocked, but soon resumed his stoic expression. "You have a sister?"

"She was beautiful. Such a good girl. Didn't belong in the slums at all. We didn't deserve her. She was sweet and pretty and smart, and not a bit like me. I woulda brought her with me, but I didn't wanna let her see the stuff I do because she's not like that. She doesn't wanna see me snorting coke or gettin' smashed or smokin' whatever comes to hand. Hell, _I_ don't wanna let her see me do those things." Reno's face fell. 

Tseng blinked. "I…"

"Save it." Reno said, his voice resuming its previous toughness. "You snort what you want to snort and I'll inhale whatever I want, deal?"

Tseng once again looked taken aback, and walked out of the room, presumably back to his desk. Reno rubbed his eyes and headed out as well, the pain in his stomach dealt with for now.

It was strange, he thought idly. In a way, the I-need-junk philosophy was his metaphysic, his raison-d'être. It was almost as addictive as the drug itself- that slow, sluggish feeling of dying and the pain. Gods, the pain…it gave him a reason to exist and showed him he was alive- he couldn't feel it if he was dead, could he? It was even comforting, this confirmation he was alive and its ability to block out the pain. Pain and pleasure were in equilibrium here- the pleasure of the junk and all its trappings and the pain he'd left behind him which resurfaced as much as the need for another fix did. Sure, it was a destroying existence, but he liked it. It kept him alive.

__

Fin.


	3. Headache

Addicted

Headache

She pressed her palms over her eyes lightly and groaned. Whatever she had done in a past life, whoever she had pissed off, she didn't deserve this. This was a bad day.

Fingers split, she peered one dusky eye through the hole formed, focusing on all the source of her misery; her fellow workmates; The Turks. Just as she had feared they were still there. She rubbed her forehead again and wished, for the millionth time that the day was over. The hands on her watch ticked slowly towards one o' clock.

Reno, her flame haired colleague, had just shredded an important document, and was now trying to stick it back together with sticky tape. This in itself was not unusual, Tseng was used to getting reports in many different states of repair; torn, coffee stained, ripped, smudged. But this one was different…

The last three weeks of recon, hiding undercover in the slums, and a twenty -man raid, resulting in a huge shooting at a local gang headquarters had rescued that document from the clutches of the down-plate Mafia. And now Reno had put it through the shredder. 

Rude, the towering silent mass was trying his best to help, by pulling the remains of the pulp out of the machine, but was succeeding in spraying the confettied mass all over the office floor. They were in so much trouble, that the doom surrounding them was almost palpable.

She reached into her bag, and rifled through the assorted mess at the bottom until she found a box of painkillers. Upon opening it, she discovered there were only two left. Popping them out of the plastic coating, she shoved them into her mouth and swallowed them with a mouthful of the now cold coffee sitting on her desk. Wondering over to the medicine box by the tiny ceramic sink in the corner of the office, and pulling it off its strapping, she began to search for more. Finding a bottle of aspirin, she took another two.

Reno, at this point, had got his finger jammed in the shredder, and was dripping blood all over the already unsightly mess. By now Rude had risen to the challenge, and was booming at Reno angrily in his deep baritone.

"Rude?" She asked absently, still clutching the medicine bottle, " You got any painkillers?"

Rude's shaded eyes turned to face her, mirroring her own pale face. He was frowning. He gestured at the bottle in her hand.

"What's wrong with those ones?"

"Empty", she lied glibly, not even thinking about it. Rude shook his head.

"I don't have any, you take too many of those things anyway", he finally said.

"I've got a headache", she replied tersely. 

She stalked angrily away from the two of them and their crumpled mess of paperwork. Pocketing he aspirin bottle she reached for her coat. They didn't even realise she had left until the door slammed loudly behind her.

"What reason has she got to have a headache?" Reno scowled, "Tseng is gonna kick my ass when he sees this mess, not hers".

***

It was a cool afternoon, late autumn, with just enough chill in the air to make your face feel numb. Elena rubbed at her temples as she sat slumped on the park bench in the small stretch of wasteland around the corner from the towering mass of the ShinRa building. Two more aspirin found their way into her mouth and she crunched them dry until they disappeared. The bitter taste left was scarcely noticed, she had ceased to comprehend it years ago.

But still the pain throbbed in her temples, the worries, the stress, and the tension. Memories of a former life held brutally in check by mindful tethers. She didn't want to think about the past, about how she got here, and what she had to do to get it. She didn't want to think about her childhood, about her family, about her father. Oh God, her father.

She didn't want to contemplate right now about her lonely existence alone in a tiny bed-sit a block away from where she worked. Her work was now her life; she threw everything she had into it, mind, body and soul. And late at night, when the nightmares woke her, and the sheets were twisted around her like chains holding her down, keeping her silent, well she didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to think about the many people she had hurt, the many people that she had killed.

She didn't want to feel excluded from her workmates; she would do anything to be invited down the local bar with them after work for a drink. But she never was. She followed them once, intending to join them anyway, but ended up watching through the window, silently from a distance.

She would do anything to find someone, anyone, to talk to. She would kill to find someone who would hold her, someone who would love her.

But still, she didn't want to think about that. So she forces the smile back on her face, and becomes the eager Rookie once again.

But her head still hurts no matter how many painkillers she takes.

Maybe one day she'd find the courage to do what she's wanted to for a long, long time.

Take the whole bottle.


	4. My Friend Charlie

Addicted

My Friend Charlie

Sometimes, his mind regressed back years and years. It repeated old, grey images of his childhood. Images he didn't really want to see, thank you very much. Not that he'd had much of a childhood, of course. Sold up the river (almost literally, but it had been the ocean) for a few Gil and a bag of smack. _I love you too, Mother._

Sold into slavery, at first, but then he'd made it ten times worse by running away from that and having to rely on prostitution to survive. Tseng the rent-boy. He laughed harshly, dispelling the memories of fragmented words and pictures. After all, he was the leader of the Turks, was he not? Weakness wasn't an option.

At first, he'd only tried it because he was given it. Set out the little white lines on a mirror and snorted them, not knowing what to expect. The rush he got of new-found talkativeness, confidence and increased energy was intense- no longer was he the shy little boy from the backwaters town, no longer the poor little rent boy, he was Superman. Or something like that. He felt like he could live forever in those lines, block out all the hurt and join the beautiful people with their fur coats and champagne. At least for thirty minutes, anyway. Then he came down fast, back to his mundane, horrible existence and his scars. All that was left was the mirror in which he saw a gaunt, desolate face and lacklustre eyes, the razorblade with which he cut deep lines into his thin arms and the banknote with which he'd invariably buy more coke. It was a vicious circle that would last most of his adult life.

Even though he had one of the most sought-after jobs on the planet, he was still unhappy. There was little satisfaction in the repeated killings and subsequent paperwork being a Turk brought, at least for him. He was no sadist, and he did not revel in the soul-crushing assassination he went through each day. The coke was a happy escape for him- wrapped up in its ebullience he was free from the daily grind. Everybody loved him. Shame they only knew the cocaine and not the helpless little boy inside that was so meticulously concealed within.

He sighed and for the first time noticed the tears blurring his reflection in that bloody mirror. It was going to haunt him for the rest of his days, the well-established routine of cutting the lines so neatly and breathing them in through the well earned banknotes that seemed to be omnipresent in his jacket pockets.

Afterwards he felt like shit, though. No appetite or energy, no lustre, no sparkle. He snapped at anyone and everyone and he didn't sleep. He couldn't. Because without the cocaine, they could get him. He hated his memories, wished he could just erase them forever because they weren't part of the new life he'd tried so hard to build. Tseng the respected leader of the Turks was _not_ Tseng the downtrodden and downright abused rent-boy. There was no way they were the same person. The coke made sure of that. And so he had to keep following the circle round and round, and slowly but surely the past faded. Thirty minutes of tranquillity was the only thing he lived for these days, the blessed escape from his for-shite reality.

As his pupils dilated, he laughed again, less harshly. Because now the tables were turned, weren't they? Now _he_ was the one with the buying and selling power, and not the one who was bought and sold. As his past drifted away from the bubble coke put around him, he felt at peace. He could do anything, have anyone he wanted to. He smiled, gratified by these lovely thoughts and their implications. All for thirty minutes and all because of the little white lines on his mirror.

But…it wasn't the powder itself Tseng was dependent on. Well, it was, but more than anything it was the powerful rush that came with the drug, the feeling of happiness, confidence and success that he could never experience without his designer drug, his friend Charlie.

__

Fin


	5. On The Rocks

Addicted

On the Rocks

The smart blue suit jacket had two hidden inside pockets, each equally as important to the owner. The first contained a shiny black revolver, the second a hip flask full of whiskey. Both of these items were essential to make the man who he was.

His name was Rude, and he was a Turk. 

The gun was not his weapon of choice; he preferred to use his fists. A towering man of well over six foot, with a bald head, ruffian goatee, and a large number of piercings decorating one ear was enough to make most fear for their lives. He looked like some kind of upper class hoodlum. The bulging muscles scarcely contained by the crisp white shirt's confines made this appearance even more threatening.

But still the gun had its uses. The quick easy kill, the mercy killing, as he preferred to think of it. Whereas when Rude let rip on a poor soul with his fists, they were in for a lot of pain before he finally snapped their neck. He liked the feel of bones popping under his knuckles, the warm sweet sensation of blood dripping to the ground. It was almost bestial in nature.

Or at last he used to like the fight, the heat of the chase, the adrenaline rush that he got from the physicality of it. Lately he had found himself using the gun more and more. Weak, he told himself, the people who couldn't defend themselves deserved to die. 

Yet as much as he tried, this just didn't seem to wash anymore, as he shot another whimpering woman. 

Weak, just like he was getting.

The killing never used to bother him. In the first few years after his recruitment into the Turks he relished the death, the license he was given, the power over those that tortured him in his youth. He was mean, and he was keen. He killed everything and anything he was asked to, without questioning why.

But now, the last few months, things were different. He couldn't stop thinking about it. About the dead people. They haunted him in his dreams, screaming for mercy, yelling for him to stop. Damning him to hell for his incomprehensible actions.

Rude was a man of action, he didn't like the fact that now he had to think. The guilt was eating him, the conscience, which didn't exist before, was now torturing him in full flow.

"Damned bad time to grow one", he mumbled quietly to himself as he sat slumped at the end of the grimy bar on a rickety stool. The barwoman glanced over at him, with a trace of fear in her green eyes.

Yes, even she was scared of him, and he had been nothing but genial to her since he had entered the dingy downtown bar. But she knew who he was. What he did. She had every right to be scared.

That's why the contents of the second hidden pocket were so important. The whiskey, or any other hard liquor he could lay his hands on, helped blur the lines a little, took the edge of the gnawing guilt growing inside him every day. He drank more and more, becoming immune to its effects, and so drinking even more still.

No man can survive with such feelings. Rude had understood finally why Reno and Tseng had their own habits. Or maybe they didn't care what they did, and just were hooked… He didn't know anymore. His mind seemed in soft focus as he downed the contents of his glass yet again.

Now the rookie, Elena, she was different. Sure she had killed, but not in such reckless abandon as the rest of them yet. She was going to be his way to salvation, even if she didn't know it. He was not going to allow her to take any more lives: he would kill for her…

No wait, that just sounded twisted and wrong. He didn't want to kill for her, he wanted to kill instead of her, try and spare her the guilt. His fogged mind scratched around with the idea, trying to pull it together. Or maybe he was too late; she was too pale, too quiet. Her eyes were lonely, he had noticed once.

He hid his eyes behind permanent sunglasses. Once he wore them to look menacing, now to hide the fact that he couldn't bear to watch as he pulled the trigger.

His large fist crashed down onto the bar, making the array of squat glasses around him shake and tinkle with the half-melted ice. Damn it. Damn him. Damn them all.

The girl with the green eyes glanced his way nervously, wondering if it was she who had angered him. Rude merely gestured towards his empty glass with one oversized digit and mumbled

"Same again please, on the rocks".

On the rocks, just like his life.


	6. Epilogue

Addicted

Epilogue

You could tell when it was 'Substance Abuse' week at ShinRa. The Executive Board were more edgy than ever and the Turks…well, the Turks. Rude looked about ready to shoot someone, his trigger finger twitching a bit every so often, Elena just tried to hide in a corner away from everyone, Tseng was more irritable than ever and Reno was paler than usual and kept diving into the bathroom every five minutes. They had to stay clean, you see, or run the risk of losing their jobs and most importantly the drugs money.

In the Turk Lounge, Rude was holding a glass of water so tight it shattered everywhere, bloody fragments of glass embedding themselves into his palm. He boomed a few curses and stormed off to get patched up. This shouting was no good for Elena, no good at all. She tried to curl up in a chair and block out all the noise around her, but she couldn't get comfortable. Pacing around like Tseng wasn't going to help either. He was walking around looking tired and gaunt, snapping at anyone who happened to cross his path and looking over his shoulder every so often. Reno, meanwhile, was almost crying from the pain. His eyes were shut tight and he was clutching his stomach, huddled up away from everyone in a corner of the room. Shaking hands lit a cigarette that did nothing to quell the shakes wracking his body and eventually the pain got so intense he thought he'd have to be sick, disappearing into the bathroom for the fiftieth time that day and just throwing his guts up. Reno had a wrap of costly heroin in his pocket, and he'd never been so tempted to use it. See, the stupid drug testing people didn't bother to check whether you were carrying the drug, only whether you'd taken it or not. He hadn't had _anything_ for three days and it was killing him. But hell, he knew this pain so well it could almost be called a friend. _I'm still alive…_

Tseng snapped at a guard for the umpteenth time that morning. He hadn't had any sleep for _days_ and his past was slowly seeping back into his consciousness and haunting him in the dark hours of the morning. And of course, there was always that paranoia. What if they found out what he was? No, used to be. _Used to be._ He kept telling himself that, but the anxiety was slowly catching up with him because he had nothing to stop it. Finally, he'd had enough. He went off to the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water, firmly telling himself to stop being stupid, that it would all be over soon and he could go back to being the real Tseng. But what he was now wasn't the real Tseng, was it? Of course not. It was the fake Tseng, the image the cocaine had conjured up for him. He splashed his face again, until the sacrilegious thoughts were dispelled. When he looked up to the mirror, however, he scarce expected to see a younger version of himself, all dressed up in God-knows-what with a face full of makeup that exaggerated his lips and eyes. It took the tattered remains of his strength not to scream and smash the mirror. He _hated_ mirrors.

When he opened his eyes again, he was there. Just the 'normal' Tseng, perhaps looking a little rough around the edges owning to lack of sleep and coke, but in essence there he was. Presently, Reno emerged from one of the stalls, looking like death. He looked at Tseng through his sea-green eyes, which were now veiled with agony and distress and said plainly, "It hurts like fuck."

Tseng smiled tightly. "I know, Reno. I know. How much junk are you taking a day?"

"Enough to make me feel like complete shit when I don't take it." He said bitterly.

Tseng pointed at Reno's arms, where the track marks were clearly visible. "Shit, Reno."

Reno mocked his action, pointing to the deep cuts on Tseng's arms. "Shit, Tseng."

Tseng forced a laugh. "Well, we're both fucked up."

"Yeah," snarled Reno. "I wish I was fucked up on smack right now, not life."

This time Tseng couldn't help a laugh. "I'd better be getting back, Reno. They'll be calling me in soon."

"Fine," snapped Reno. "I'll think of you when I get out of my head tonight."

Meanwhile, Rude had just come out of the office that was being used for the tests. He sighed in relief, poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat down, at peace for the first time in those three agonising days. "Tseng," he said. "They're waiting for you. Good luck."

Tseng nodded, businesslike. "Drag Reno out of the bathroom, would you? He's dying."

Rude nodded curtly and Tseng entered the room, ignoring Elena's incessant whining about her head.

"Ow ow ow ow." Elena moaned from her chair. "My head."

"Elena," Rude said in disbelief. "There's nothing wrong with your head. It's just those damn painkillers you insist on taking."

"You're one to talk, Rude," Elena hissed. "You're an alcoholic. Reno's a junkie. Tseng's hooked on coke."

"Yeah," came Reno's scornful voice. "It's part of the job description. Addiction comes with the duty. If you weren't addicted to _somethin'_ then you wouldn't last through the day."

Addiction. 

Relying on something to the utmost until it is part of yourself, part of your soul. Addicts and their fixes are inseparable, and quite often lying to themselves, cheating others, letting nothing get in the way of what they want.

What they so desperately need.

Addictive personalities are much more common than one would think, as addicts often hide what they so desperately desire from the real world. They present a face of normality to the people around them. To show their weakness would be suicide, people would try and cure them. If cured, what would these addicts be? Nothing but shadows, until they succumbed to their inner demons once again.

You didn't believe this? You read on. Beyond lay a tale of corruption of the innocent, bribery, lies, illegal substance use, and more.

Take centre stage – The Turks.

__

And with this, the curtain closes.

Fin

A/N: Props to beautiful Tini for the Tsenginess. You all go see her fics now. ^__^


End file.
